


Purgatory

by AshesToStars



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Have fun with this one.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2019-02-07 23:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12851964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshesToStars/pseuds/AshesToStars
Summary: A death, an awakening.





	Purgatory

The night was young, back then. It had been young, and new, each passing evening when he was small. The sun would die, willfully lowering into it's own grave and allowing it's sister moon to crawl, risen from death of its own to sit atop the sky like a throne. Come to think of it, Daniel could only find it fascinating that even at such an innocent age, he was still using grim allegories and finding them beautiful... as it was. Death was, in it's nature, so god damn beautiful. The process of giving your body to the earth and fertilizing the newborn flowers and plants and allowing your empty husk to become a foundation for something so full of life. Body with earth, mind with sky, spirit with heavens... a process of rebirth, recycling. And yet, the beauty of ascension was still to be rejected for years to come, cast aside as nightmarish fever dreams. It was they, the ones who disbelieve, who were stuck firmly in a quicksand of deep naivety. Beauty could not be so very very far from their desperate grasp. No matter how much their fingers clawed, digging at the dull air for purpose... they would never take hold of anything. Harsh nothing would dance across fingernails for as long as they continued to deny truth being presented to them on silver platter.

The night was young, back then, yes... but now it was old. The sun was a bitter foe, beaten and worn from the clouds of abuse and only now set with the shaking hope that it would not rise again to meet the agony once more. The moon now did not rise from the dead as an angel re-risen, but instead dug it's way out as a demon of all layers of underground torment to forcefully claim it's crown of thorns each passing night. Lullabies from friendly music boxes turn rusted, twisted sounds of scraping metal against metal and the comfort of being tucked in nice and warm against softened sheets was now being restrained, tied with harsh rope to a bed of needles and being told to keep your balance or slide, punctured holes through the body till they protruded from the other end. The rain came down without so much as a hint of mercy on top of Daniel, pelting him in the dark with droplets that could very well have been rocks and he would not tell the difference. Not a single scar existed on him, physically... but there was something deeper. The burning pain of a defeat at the hands of a once beloved friend.

The memories of poison come flooding back to him. Purple liquid traveling into his bloodstream and making his throat clog up with panic and his heart march on, march on as hard as it could until it collapsed. He remembered his shock when he awoke, lying on his back in an enclosed bed of dirt and flowers. Buried alive?   
No. Buried dead.

Risen alive.

Daniel had jutted his hand against his prison, weakened body collapsed instantly upon it's feeble attempt to escape. And thus Daniel was rendered trapped there, rotting away in a cage meant for one unable to comprehend it's horrors. He had a lot of time to think within that enclosure, and many things had occurred to him in rapid succession. The truth was what put him here. His kindness had been spit back in his face, and he had been punished for purity. The world was cruel like that, he knew...it feared perfection, feared the change they needed. Society was trapped in it's cocoon and refused to transition into beings of something bigger than this. They didn't want his caring and helping hand. They didn't want to ascend.  
That made him angry. The fact that he was only stuck here because he knew the truth... cold, dead lips had parted to make way for a string of silent noises. He didn't remember how to speak. How long had he been gone? Had it been long enough that his voice had since cancelled itself out due to misuse? Was it long enough that the world had already transitioned without him? Recycled while he was stuck on mortal coil? The idea struck him like cold ice, fear shuddering his form underneath the dirt. Was this punishment? What could he have done wrong to deny him a right to the ascension he preached? Daniel finally felt his voice return to him, and the first thing he did was pure animalistic impulse.

He had screamed. Underneath that prison of his, muffled and utterly pointless, he had keened to the surface with conviction strong enough to win twenty wars. The scream was nigh instantly stymied by the falling dirt that filled between his teeth and onto his tongue. He had coughed, and then found that he didn't need to. Breathing didn't seem to affect him any longer, and that was a promising discovery. Now, mouth brimming with the very cage he was trapped in, he pondered. His head had been wracked with possibility after possibility of his new form, and of why he was given it... but he could not rest on an answer. So then, he turned to his next favorite subject.  
What would he do once he escaped it?

He thought maybe he'd find his old leaders, and show them his new form. Perhaps he would reveal how worthy he is of true ascension, and perhaps they would reward him. Would there be a higher reward anymore, were this a purified form? Daniel thought then of what he wanted most in the world, and suddenly his head was filled with a single namesake.   
David.  
D a v i d.

Yes, that was it, wasn't it? A grin had spread on his dirt-filled lips, and Daniel thought of David. Once upon a time, they had been friends, along with Jasper... but David forgot those days, now didn't he? That was a shame for him, wasn't it? A defeat at the hand of such innocent arrogance...how foolish he had been. But was he the fool? Or was David, now that he had come into a body that could not die? Daniel silently fantasized what he might do when he saw him again. Purify him? No. David didn't deserve that. Something in Daniel's head kept screaming at him about that. It was a voice, keeping him company in the recesses of his head. He was ready to listen to anything other than the repetitive static of dry stillness.   
It told him that David was his perfect opposite. A being that could not ascend, a being full of such earthly sin that the only way he could ever find rest was in some form of purgatory. He did not deserve to live.  
And that was the thought that rose him.

His hand jutted out harder this time against the dirt, and this time had succeeded in breaking much of the dirt. He reached a second hand up, and began a crawl- almost a swim- upwards with sharpened fingernails and mouth still full. He had to close his eyes to avoid filling sockets with the same troublesome ground. Finally, he had broke unto the surface, and did not hesitate to drag himself out of the hole.   
Daniel had spit the cursed dirt down into the hole from his mouth, and had stumbled, as if unused to walking. After gaining his bearings...he merely observed. It was nighttime, and he found himself remembering the night of Jasper's passing.

As he did so, a sensation hit him harder than any he'd ever felt. The poison... re-entering his bloodstream to attack his senses, and fill his nose with the burning of death. Desperately, he had cried out, but only the bubbling purple liquid had dripped from his tongue. Daniel took a step forward, and fell onto his knees, gripping at his throat. Again, not again...thoughts came rushing back and memories of recent times joined him. A prison of dirt, a re-awakening, a voice of vengeance, a bitter memory- the poison! Repeated, a cycle that never ended. Was this hell? Was it?  
Was this punishment for his crime?

The taste of dirt on his tongue was familiar now, he remembered it. Time and time and time again like a cruel game of deja vu- why could he not shake that feeling? Every time he broke the surface, it dragged him back, over and over without end.

He collapsed on the dirt, tears of purple streaming and staining the ground underneath. He thought of David... his lip upturned in a scowl. This was his doing. The vengeance is stuck within him, even now. That's familiar, too. It's ALL TOO FAMILIAR. THIS KEPT HAPPENING. Would it ever end?

As he felt his brief deathless state fade from him, he realized he was dying (AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AN), and he gave in. There was no point to not doing so. Facedown on the ground, with hands limp at his side...he recalled the night that he had first met David;

The night was young, back then. It had been young, and new, each passing evening when he was small. The sun would die, willfully lowering into it's own grave and allowing it's sister moon to crawl, risen from death of its own to sit atop the sky like a throne-


End file.
